I don’t understand it either, but it’s like some sort of Hogwarts—Star Wars voodoo where all the 5G innerweb technology opens the gate to much more than TikTok videos.
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Seeing a college student use snail mail is about as likely as seeing one of them talking on their phone. But by Socrates, if you need a snail mail envelope, there’s one in there.
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Me? I can’t draw water from a well. I want to; I try to, but…well…let’s just say I’m in awe of those who can and leave it at that.
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Admit it, anyone and everyone who has managed to manifest into this corporeal form did at least a couple of idiotic things as a youth.
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Him, a voodoo priestess, a gender fluid Philosophy major, a truck driver from Santee, a plus-sized model named Maude—she works part-time in the cafeteria over to the school, a goat named Penelope, and a quiet, skinny girl named Lucy all came to the house for Thanksgiving dinner.
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We move forward in shades of yin and yang, good and bad suspended in some weird balance.
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If you’ve not attended class since the first week of the semester, what is the thought process that convinces you it’s a good idea to come take the final exam?
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“…that couldn’t possibly be “true.” Nobody’d do that. Yeah, they would.”
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Once these budding Einsteins regain minimal cognitive function, the emails…and on rare occasion, the office visits…begin.
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“Gravity sucks. We’ll figure out the rest.”
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The smell of oiled leather gloves, the sound of a ball popping into the pocket, the sting of making contact at the plate, the rituals, the superstitions, the stats, the strategy, I loved all of it.
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My boss, Dukar Kaiser, whose 3-year-old son learned English watching Cheech and Chong movies (even had the accents right) called the layoffs “being promoted to the fresh air.”
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…my “careers” have been: dishwasher, sold shoes, drove a forklift, musician, window washer, cube jockey, auctioneer, real estate broker, self-employed business owner, teacher, writer, and countless side hustles.
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…for those of you who’ve been out of college a while—yes, Thursday night is still the go-to party night and yes, early Friday mornings still feature the Walk of Shame Parade.
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I was between marriages and headed to the grocery store for single guy staples: beer, butter, beef jerky, one-ply toilet paper, beer, and tater chips.
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“…the whole car came off the ground and when it landed my whole right side SMASHED into the car (I was in the trunk). “
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When I’d done something really stupid, which was almost daily, Pop would shake his head and proclaim, “if you put your brain on a razor blade it’d look like a BB rolling down a four-lane highway,” and he was right in a metaphorical sort of way.
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“Want a peak behind the glamourous professor’s curtain to see how the magic happens? Let’s unpack this email to learn the scholarly considerations that led to my response.”
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